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Camy

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Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy

    Musing about November

    By Camy,

    I'm trying to figure out what to write in November. It's hard, because generally I get an idea and off I gallop - which is NOT the way to set about writing anything of great length, e.g.: a novel. It didn't work with Seraph, and it hasn't worked for the last few NaNoWriMo's I've taken part in. I've ended up knackered and with a part finished piece I never seem to get round to finishing. Don't get me wrong; I think some of what I've written has been okay, but short stories seem to suit me better.
    Last night I had the idea to use this NaNo to continue last years effort (Hellion), but from another viewpoint. With that in mind I started to re-read it, and was shocked:
    A) by how fresh it seemed - well, it would as I haven't looked at it in months.
    B) by how many stupid mistakes I made when writing - missing out words, bad spelling, awful punctuation.
    C) by how obvious it was becoming that most of what I've been writing is set in and around the same world space.
    The upshot is I have two realistic options. The first is to attempt yet another novel - or novella, and the second is to write a series of short stories. I'm still not sure which to pick.
  4. Camy
    AGHHHHHHHHH!!!
    1761 when I should be at least at 5001 is peeving. Peeving I tell 'e. It's just not good enough!
    AGHHHHHHHHH!!!
    And, and, and oh poop. I picked the wrong day to give up sniffing glue. What? It's my blog I shall be as contentious as I like. And frankly - but don't tell anyone, it's a secret - I've never sniffed or mainlined glue. Or herbage either. Difficult to inject a large pot plant, anyway. Though why smoking one of God's own plants is illegal worries me. He/She/It gave us this wondrous (according to some, but not others) green growing thing in the first place. Did you know you can sail a ship with it?
    Waffle, that's what this is. Waffle to clear my mind of an insanely weird scene in a secret pub near Covent Garden. There are elves too. I like elves. And mountains.
    Nuff said.
    Bye.
  5. Camy

    NaNo No No.

    By Camy,

    I didn't make it to the 50,000 this year, sadly. I know I shouldn't be peeved with myself, or miffed, or standing in disgrace in the corner: but I am - a little (not the standing in the corner bit). I don't like failing. It irks.
    It also irks that 50,000 words isn't actually an awful lot. If I were serious about becoming a writer I should be churning that in a month - with or without NaNoWriMo.
    Bum. I've been 'hoist by my own petard,' stupid git I am. ;)
    Ah well [snort], there's always next year....
  6. Camy

    NaNoWriMo 2011

    By Camy,

    I've been pondering this year's NaNoWriMo and trying to decide what I'm going to write. What I want is to end up on December 1st with a finished 50,000 word novella, rather than 50,000 words of a novel I'll never get around to completing.
    I write short stories and I like to think I'm not bad at them; but novels are a different beast altogether. Novels require more than my skittish self seems to want to give. They require serious thought and planning - especially if they're good. Whereas, for me, a novella might be a good length to try for.
    I've just finished 'Spartan Gold', a Clive Cussler (with Grant Blackwood) Fargo Adventure. It was a real ripper! A page turner that kept me up at night. On the other hand I probably won't ever want to read it again because it didn't touch me. It wasn't remarkable in any way. It was true pulp fiction. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with pulp fiction at all. It's just I want to write something better. Ha! I should be so lucky. If I could write a good pulp novel that people couln't put down I'd be over the moon. But still I'd yearn. [guffaw]
    There's nowt wrong with a good dollop of hubris!
  7. Camy
    Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!
    I should be at 23k words and I'm only at 15k. This does not bode well. Not well at all. Still, one has to try and be positive... it's almost dark, it's cold, I need coffee but can't be arsed to go downstairs and make it. Dear lord, send an angel, fastest.
    I suppose I should resort to a picture of the cat:

     
  8. Camy
    Today, I've spent a lot of time berating the cat. She seems to get great pleasure out of waltzing over the keyboard. She also sits on it when I'm making coffee - which means removing rows and rows of odd letters. H seems to be popular, as is K.
    Other than that it's going well. I'm almost at 8,000 words. I'm hoping they might make sense, too. Who knows?
    Later.
  9. Camy

    Needy

    By Camy,

    I is feeling mucho needy.
    Just over a year ago I took my heart in my hands and told my best friend that I loved him. It was done deal, really, 'cause deep down I knew he felt the same way ... and he did. The idea was that we were going to live together as soon as we could. A year and a bit down the line it still hasn't happened. 'Things' keep getting in the way, and I'm getting really effing brassed off.
    One of the 'things' has been ... erm ... my problem, is to do with personal space. I'm a loving guy, but I can't sleep with anyone. Cuddling, no problem. But actually sleeping. Big problem. And I don't know what to do about it. The one good part is that he's known me and my foibles for years, but still. It would be nice to wake up in his arms.... Well, according to the stories I've read, it would.
    Yesterday I came downstairs and found the cat looking inordinately proud. He had a baby bunny. It was in perfect condition - except for being dead - and looked asleep. I was mortified. But the cat didn't care. I tried to explain that killing baby bunnies was not on - but to no avail. He pointed out that he's a cat, and that he's following his genetic prerogative ... as I'm following mine. Bloody Cat.
    Chapter 12 of Seraph is finished and edited. Only one chapter left to go, now. At some point after it's finished I'm going to re-edit, as inevitably there are bits I'm not happy with ... not to mention the odd flaw in continuity and plot.
    I'm part way through a short 'boarding school drama' - as requested in dubious circumstances by Cole. It's set in the UK in the seventies with a working title of 'Bathtime'.
    And I'm still needy (even after writing this blog). I want a hug! *sighs*
    Ave, all.
    Camy
  10. Camy

    NiaD XI - away with the fairies

    By Camy,


    NiaD
    ...and so, in less than an hour, I'm off for another insane bout of writing a novel in 24 hours.
    The cat's prepared - I've told her to help herself to food. I have beer and wine in the fridge and a tub of hummus for those urgent snack breaks.
    Now all I'm waiting for is the midnight delivery of my chapter brief!
    W00T!
  11. Camy

    Novel approach

    By Camy,

    'Harvest Time' - the novel I was writing for NaNoWriMo - is still unfinished. That's not say I'm not continuing it, it's just that the 'gotta get to 50,000 words or look like a pranny' impetus has gone. Such is life. I've also got other stories to finish too - including 'Bathtime' which I promised Cole an age ago.
    I've sent a short story off to a magazine, and am waiting patiently for the rejection slip. At least this time I didn't send a 'Dark Drama' to a SciFi mag. Duh.
    Cole Parker's 'Bleat Bleat Quack' is quite trying my patience. This bi-weekly posting malarkey is causing no end of angst to my digestion, and until I get to the end I don't think life is going to get back to normal. It also seems that the Raccoon is going to be visiting our fair shores. I've decided to avoid the capital for the duration, and have told my sister to padlock her bins.
    The Hub's new Anthology is now on-line. The theme was 'Voyeur' and there are seven great stories there. Well, six and mine.
    And that's it for now. Hmm.
    Camy
  12. Camy

    Once I coveted a Sony Reader

    By Camy,

    The idea of customer service and 'satisfaction' in the UK sucks. There, I've said it.
    Like a big kid I fell in lust with the idea of getting a Sony Reader. It's not that I can afford one. It's just that I've got a credit card, and I haven't gone mental with it for a while.
    So, on Saturday M and I schlepped into the local Branch of Waterstones. Waterstones is supposedly the UK's biggest chain of book shops. They have a deal with Sony to sell their 'Readers', and a dinky site to flog eBooks.
    "Do you have any Sony Readers left?" I pant, with eyes attractively on stalks, and fondling my plastic.
    "Yes," the po-faced sloth behind the counter finally puts his paper down, and answers. "several. Do you want to buy one?"
    "Maybe, but I'd like to see it working first."
    "Ah." He nods sagely. "There's a display over there." He points, and takes a breath.
    "Great!" I say, about to walk over to it and play.
    "But the display model has stopped working."
    "Oh," I stop, and my lower lip begins to quiver.
    "You can look. It's just that it doesn't work.
    "Not a lot of use then, is it?" M says acerbically.
    "I suppose not." The sloth picks up his paper as we walk over to the display.
    I decide the Reader is aesthetically beautiful, and rather pleasing, as I prod at its buttons, hoping that maybe it'll magically fire up. It doesn't.
    M starts to get annoyed. I know the signs. Unfortunately, a young and helpful Saturday sales girl doesn't.
    "Nice, isn't it?"
    "It's not working." M states the obvious with such gravitas and disdain I wonder why the young girl doesn't turn tail and flee.
    "Umm ... no." She says, still in helpful mode. She frowns, then brightens up. "It worked for an hour this morning, then stopped. Oddly the same thing has happened at several of our other branches."
    "But you have them for sale?"
    "Oh yes!" She says brightly.
    "Couldn't you put a new one on display, then?"
    "Oh no, we're not allowed to. But I'm sure it'll be working on Monday!"
    It wasn't. I went back and it was still broken ... which has rather put me off.
    Now, I'm thinking of coveting a BeBook.
  13. Camy

    Ordinary Man

    By Camy,

    Earlier today I was slugging coffee, writing, and occasionally - when I got stuck - picking up the guitar and noodling. Noodling helps me think. Anyway, I ended up penning a ditty. Then - as I don't write music - I made a rough recording.
    Here are the lyrics:
    Ordinary Man
    i am an ordinary man
    i ain't subtle there's no plan
    when I saw you at first
    my heart flipped went berserk
    i think i love you - i think i love you
    you're a man
    wasn't the plan
    'cause i am straight
    let others hate
    'cause i am me
    and you are you
    and does it matter
    who is who
    i think i love you - i think i love you
    i never thought i was strange
    my genes don't need re-arranging
    when we touched in the street
    my body and soul felt complete
    i think i love you - i think i love you
    yet you're a man
    it wasn't the plan
    'cause i am straight
    let others hate
    'cause i am me
    and you are you
    and does it matter
    who is who
    i love you - i love you
    ---
    And here - if anyone's interested - is the rough recording.
  14. Camy

    Pigsticking

    By Camy,

    Today I hate the world.
    Fecking women who drive small Nissans and who think they have the right to drive down the outside of a stationary line of traffic, and then cut in. I might have been vaguely amused if she'd been pretty, or if she'd have been a he, and cute. But nooooo.
    There was a thread in the news forum (which got well out of hand) that strayed into the rights and wrongs of gun control. All I have to say on the matter is that, with fecking Nissan tart, I suffered a serious amount of angst which verged on road rage. Had I had a gun - concealed or not - I might well have used it. Lucky it is I live in the UK. As it was I so so nearly rammed her. I'm normally mild mannered, but today I came very close to losing it.*
    My neighbour's on the list, too. Shan't go there, I've just got my blood pressure back to earth. Git.
    It's lovely weather, so I can't blame my mood on Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm tempted to pack a bag and vanish. If I could morph the cat into a dog I might well, but cats don't like tramping the country: especially if they don't have a hot monitor to lie on top of.
    Hey ho, and life goes on.
    Camy
    * Falling Down
  15. Camy

    Pre-Brexit Flu jab. 2019

    By Camy,

    I haven't had a flu jab in aeons, and don't know why the cat forced me to go.
    She's not normally that catty.

    Maybe she is; she is, after all, a cat. But I have to agree with her: We are all mad.
    Thankfully, I didn't vote for it... not that that is going to make the slightest difference, as the UK sinks slowly beneath the waves. 'Bye bye,' we'll say, and wave, with our stiff upper lips quivering, whilst the xenophobic fucks that caused it will moan that the result 'wasn't quite what we expected,' and bleat 'where's the nearest food bank?'
    The USA will eventually get rid of The Donald, but the UK has generations of misery ahead.
    Hey ho. We all have our blonde Trumps Johnson's to bear... or should that be bare?
    My Johnson's quite happy where he is. Asleep. Dreaming. No! Stop it! I've warned you....
    Anyway, to cut a long (but not nearly as long as Jason's) rant short: I had a flu jab this afternoon and I'm not a happy chappy.
    They say: The flu jab doesn't cause flu as it doesn't contain live viruses. However, you may experience side effects after having the jab, such as a temperature and aching muscles for a couple of days afterwards.
    I say: Bollocks, and ouch, and damn I feel achy and meh.... I think I'll take to my bed for a month or two.
    Ave.
  16. Camy

    RIP Jamie

    By Camy,

    http://www.thestar.c...article/1072227
    So very, very sad.
    Looking back on my adolescence I find it hard to believe that every little thing was so important and so vital to my happiness. Whether it was waiting for a parcel that arrived a few days late, or a look from a friend that I misinterpreted. From walking into a room and thinking the reason they all stopped talking was because they were talking about me, to reading the cricket scorer's book and seeing that a really hard catch I made had been put down as a 'duck'. Life back then was lived superfast, and yet time also crawled by. And emotions! Emotions were off any kind of rational scale. Yet, luckily, I'm still here.
    I think that the proliferation of the internet, mobile phones and social media has a lot to answer for. Now you can 'out' someone without having time to think it might be the wrong thing to do. If you're an angry adolescent with a mobile - and adolescents are angry a lot - you can fuck someone's life up forever in under 30 seconds - and with a picture, too.
    We are who we are. I'm out if anyone asks, but I don't flaunt it. After all, it's nobodies business but my own. If I was an adolescent now, in 2011, would I be different? I honestly don't know. I think I might be. I might be in the gay soc at school - if my school now has a gay soc. Jamie was apparently open about his sexuality and the fact that that's even possible has to be a step forward in the right direction. That he was bullied is awful, but, sadly, pack mentality and bullying is inherent human nature.
    I don't have any answers and I really wish I did.
    RIP Jamie.
  17. Camy

    Rowing not rowing.

    By Camy,

    M and I had a row today. I was in a foul mood and flew off the handle at a meaningless slight. Then, much like Attila the Hun, I told him to go f**k himself, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I was incensed. Then, as I drove away, I thought about how he must have been feeling, and I almost ... almost turned back: but I'm nothing if not bloody minded, and drove on. A mile up the road the phone went off ...
    ... and all is well in the garden, Chancy.
    We went for a great walk on the beach. Weather bleedin' 'ot, and narry a cloud in the sky.
    I'm not good with rowing. In the past we've not talked for months, but now we're ... umm ... an item!? I guess I have to be more mature, and less of a kid about 'stuff.'
    Camy.
  19. Camy

    Sharpened fingers

    By Camy,

    I've sharpened my fingers, pencils, and all.
    Determined to succeed: I shall not fall.
    The wayside of NaNoWriMo is painful indeed,
    littered with writers, egos, and need.
    Yup, it's the last few hours before the off. Actually, quite a few hours, but for an Emu of little bonce (ergo weency brain) the hours stream by evermore rapidly.
    I even know what I'll write! Sort of, almost ... nearly.
    If you want to keep in touch with my NaNoWriMo efforts, I have a special blog for it called 'Camy's Idiocy.'
    Ave.
  20. Camy
    I've got so much to say, but have just had a phone call. I'm always late, and here I am late again.
    The above means goodbye for now. Explain all later.
    Hmm....
    Camy
    PS 'Tardy Swine!' emoticon obviously required.
  21. Camy

    Splish Splash

    By Camy,

    I went swimming today: In the sea, and it happened like this.
    M and I have been taking daily walks. He thinks he's overweight, and he is a little bit - though I wouldn't ever tell him. He's gone on the Atkins diet, which, to cut a very long load of bollocks short, is a royal pain. I eat what I want, but can't do it in front of him as he starts drooling like Homer Simpson. He, on the other hand, can't eat any carbohydrates at all. None. It's a pain.
    So in the afternoons we go for a walk. Today, as it was blazingly hot, we were on the beach. We'd walked for miles (seemingly) trying to find a spot without other people, and finally found one. I was wearing shorts, threw off my shirt and after a bit of wincing - 'cause the pebbles were sharp and the water cold - went and wallowed. 'twas most excellent!
    On the way back we were walking by a row of beach huts, and there, sunning himself, sat a friend who offered us tea. A cold drink would have been just peachy, but no, a cup of hot tea is what we got. Only in England.
    All in all a good day.
    I can't wait to get him jogging!
  22. Camy

    Spoof!

    By Camy,

    I love well made spoofs, and this is funny as hell. Sadly, you have to join the site - but do, it's well worth it. :)
    Masturbation!
  23. Camy

    Stoopid bird.

    By Camy,

    Time and time again I do it, and time and time again I berate myself when I ... umm ... wake up.
    Never, never, never, never, never post stuff when in an altered state. There is an off chance that it might be okay, but the odds are similar to those of winning the lottery. Best not to bother - I tell myself yet again. Gah!
    Stupid, stupid me. Now, I must go and stand in the corner for an hour.
    Confused? Here's a poem I wrote about 'it'. Profound or what?!
  24. Camy

    Stupid I am.

    By Camy,

    So I trundle off and write a story - or which I'm proud - and post it.
    I'm tidying up when the computer goes 'ting'. Email!
    'twas a rare missive from the Dude! After opening the champagne, and putting the caviar on ice (yick, pah, pass me a bucket) I sit down to read:
    I scratch chin, then panic - or was it the other way around....
    Paranoia wakes up. Everybody hates me. I pace up and down ... up and down ... down and up....
    Then:
    Grinning I sit back, then frown and start to worry that Cole is going to think horrible things.
    Checking emails more than once a minute can get irksome.
    Then:

    So ... consider a public school story on its way!
    Camy
  25. Camy

    Sunday babbling.

    By Camy,

    Sunday. Sunday, Sunday, oh tranquil ol' Sunday.
    The day of rest, so sayeth the wise.
    Unless, of course, you've decided - in a moment of skint fiscal madness (and not my own, I hasten to add) - to 'do' a car boot sale.
    "Must I?"
    "Oh yes, it's fun, and we'll make money!" It's not that we ever do make money - or enough to write home about, anyway - but generally we have a laugh.
    "Oh okay then. But you have to get me up." (minds out of gutter please).
    So ... on Sunday morning I wake up, glare at the cat - who can sleep on, and stumble downstairs for coffee. Finally I phone him. It rings and rings. Eventually:
    "Mmmm ... uh ... what time is it?"
    "You were supposed to call ME!"
    "Oh ... so, uh ...."
    I relent and almost laugh. After all, I've had coffee. "I'll pick you up in half an hour, it's a beautiful day."
    "Umm ... do you still want to, then?" Unfortunately, I adore going back to bed: especially when I shouldn't. And even more so when I can get up later and watch Formula 1! Yay! W00T!
    A few hours later, during a commercial break, I get an email:
    Dearest Emu, I should be taken outside and horsewhipped.
    If you don't hear from me again, you can have all my equipment,
    (maybe you'll get a tenner for it).
    I am now going to disappear into the sea with some sad music playing,
    (some of my own, of course).
    Don't mourn for me, I don't deserve it.
    Goodbye cruel world.
    Lots of love, M.
    Guffawing, I turn off the TV and drive over - thus missing the conclusion of, probably, the best race of the season.
    Ain't love strange?
    Sebastian Vettel won. At 21, the youngest ever winner of Formula 1.

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